Mr Haversham
by cheride
Summary: Some secrets you keep, some you tell, and some fall somewhere in between. Missing scene for Flip of the Coin.


_This is a work of fanfiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of White Collar do not belong to me, but to their creators._

**A/N:**Just a note of thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read, review, or favorite my stories. It's been a ton of fun coming into a new fandom, especially one as enthusiastic as this.

Also, even though there aren't many episodes to choose from just yet, my favorite scene to date has been Peter meeting Mozzie. It's going to take a lot to top that.

* * *

**Mr. Haversham**

by

Cheride

Neal was doing his best to keep the noise to a minimum as he got himself dressed for work. Mozzie—recently known as Dante Haversham—was crashed on his couch, having imbibed a little too heavily the night before. Not that Caffrey could really blame him; your first close encounter with a federal agent could do that to a guy. In fact, he could recall a few times over the years that a run in with Peter Burke had left him needing to drown a worry or two himself, not that he was likely to admit that to anyone. He didn't dwell too long on the change of circumstances that now had Mozzie and Peter sharing drinks at his own table. There'd be time enough for that later, but right now he had to get downstairs before Burke pulled up in front of June's house. Peter hated to be kept waiting, and he thought this was definitely not the day to start off on the man's bad side. Taking a final look in the mirror, Neal smoothed his jacket, then slipped quietly out of the room, making it to the front steps with seconds to spare.

"Good morning!" He slipped into the sedan, feigning his normal exuberance.

"You're unusually prompt this morning," Peter groused as he pulled away from the curb. "Making sure I don't run into Haversham again?"

Neal could hear the air quotes around the name, and he should've known Peter wouldn't just pretend the meeting had never taken place. "Are you going to keep calling him that? And if you are, are you going to say it like that _every_ time?"

Peter grinned, and Neal had the sudden impression that the agent had been deliberately jerking his chain. It was annoying that it had actually worked.

"What would you prefer I call him?" Burke asked, becoming the very model of reason. "Seems like we worked out a pretty good approach, since I'm betting _Dante Haversham_ doesn't have a record, and therefore doesn't present a probation violation just by stepping into your apartment."

Caffrey swallowed, trying to clear the dryness that had taken up residence in his throat last night about the time Haversham had been born. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I guess that makes a lot of sense." He'd been surprised by Peter's willing acceptance of the alias; in retrospect, he should've realized there was a logical explanation for the whole thing. Not, he corrected himself quickly, that there was really anything remotely logical about his best friend and one-time partner being protected by his current partner and . . .

He let that thought trail off—_and good riddance_—when he saw Burke looking at him expectantly. "Sorry. What was that?"

The agent smirked a little, seeming to enjoy the ex-con's discomfort. "I said, he's always been your go-to guy, right? A handy guy to keep around."

Neal countered with his own question. "Don't my fifth amendment rights kick in during interrogations?"

Burke laughed then, even as his attention shifted to a tricky lane change. "Of course," he assured the other man, "but this is hardly an interrogation."

"He's an old friend," Caffrey replied, not bothering to argue the semantics. It was a blind spot of cops of all sorts, he thought; they honestly didn't realize that conversations with them were _always_ interrogations. "A good friend."

"So it seems," Peter murmured. Then he went on, "You know, for a while, I wasn't sure he was real. Thought maybe he was some sort of alter-ego you'd conjured up for protection. It wasn't until your Boston museum job that I knew for sure."

"The _alleged_ Boston museum job," Neal corrected automatically. He wasn't sure why he kept up the pretense with this man. Burke knew too much—had _always_known too much. But then he finally registered the rest of the statement. "You thought I made him up? Moz?" He chuckled. "You really think I'd make up a guy named _Mozzie_? He sounds more like a Muppet than a person."

"Thought it was to throw us off," Peter grinned. "Someone your polar opposite would be a great way to get suspicion off of you."

Caffrey raised an eyebrow. "Not a bad idea, Peter. Maybe _you_ should be my go-to guy."

"I'm pretty sure Haversham and I have entirely different skill sets," Burke returned drily.

"No doubt." He thought about something else his handler had said. "What happened in Boston that let you know for sure?" he wondered.

"You don't know?" Peter seemed genuinely surprised.

"I guess not," though he wasn't about to admit how unsettling it was that Burke knew things about his past that even he apparently did not. "So give."

"We arrested him," Burke said simply.

"You _what_?"

"Well, not me personally, of course; the Boston office handled the interrogation while I hopped on a plane to, ah . . . Seattle, I think it was. But you were in the wind."

"Why would you arrest Mozzie? He didn't do anything."

"We were trying to get to you," Peter explained. "You disappeared—empty-handed, if I remember correctly—and he was the closest thing we had to a break. Me chasing you all over the country wasn't making much progress; we needed another angle. They held him for seventy-two hours, but he didn't give up anything."

"You held an innocent man for three days?" Neal found himself unreasonably angry on his friend's behalf.

"Hardly innocent," Burke objected, "even if he wasn't directly involved in that little caper. Which, incidentally, I'm not convinced he wasn't."

"Well, if you had proof, his visit would've been longer than seventy-two hours," Caffrey pointed out bitterly.

Peter glanced over quizzically. "If we had proof, you _both_ would've had a longer visit. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

Pulling to a stop at a traffic light, Burke studied his passenger for a long moment. "What is it you're really mad about? Federal agents doing their jobs six years ago, or the fact that, uh, _Haversham_ hasn't really been the secret you figured he was?"

"Quit saying his name like that," Neal snapped. "Or better yet, quit saying it altogether."

Peter accelerated again, staying silent as he moved with the traffic. Caffrey figured the man was waiting for some sort of explanation, and he'd be glad to give it—as soon as he came up with one.

He was right: the feds had just been doing their jobs. And even if they'd been a little over-zealous, the time for outrage over that had certainly long passed. And Burke was right about one other thing, too: Mozzie was far from innocent. Plus, he knew the risks of the game. But Neal made a note to have a chat with the man for keeping this particular secret for so long. Easier to deal with Moz than Peter any day of the week.

Silence reigned for the remainder of the commute, and when the car pulled to a stop in the parking garage, neither man rushed for the door. Burke was the first to speak, as Neal had supposed he would be.

"Let me see if I can take a stab at what's bothering you," he began. "I figure this whole consultant gig is still a little strange for you, even though it was all your idea to begin with. And, of course, you're worried about Kate, and trying to figure out what you can do to find her that hopefully won't get you sent back to prison—though I doubt if that's too high on your list of concerns." Burke's words kept flowing.

"So you've got an old friend helping you out. And because he's a _good_ friend, he even helps you help me from time to time, probably making things even stranger. But even though the idea that one of your buddies was helping you out with some things was sort of an open secret, you liked it better when you thought _I_ thought it was a very non-specific friend. If you had your way, the two parts of your life would never come together, and now that they have, you're a little worried about what that means and how much I really know. Or might know. Or could know, sometime in the future. You do not have things as under control as you had believed, and that idea scares you just a little bit." He spread his hands and shrugged slightly. "At least," he finished, "that's the way I see it. How am I doing so far?"

Neal just shook his head. As always, Peter knew far too much. "Can you blame me?" he finally ventured. "You're a fed, Peter! And Mozzie . . . well, he's definitely not. And now you tell me you've already used him once to try and get to me? Why _shouldn't_ I be worried?"

"Because I'm not chasing you anymore," Peter said simply. "I've already got you, and I'm not looking for an excuse to put you back inside. Strange as it may seem, you can trust me."

"The way you trust me?" the ex-con muttered.

Burke gave another shrug. "Trust has to be earned, and _I_ haven't been keeping secrets from _you_."

"You didn't tell me you knew about Mozzie," Neal contradicted.

Peter grinned slightly. "You know there's not much about you I don't know. I was after you a long time."

Of course the man was right yet again; Neal had been fooling himself to believe that Mozzie was truly a secret. But knowing that didn't diminish the uneasiness he'd felt the minute his two partners had collided the night before. Nor did it explain why neither of them seemed to think twice about it; he really shouldn't be the only one worried about this turn of events. There was no telling what might happen next.

Almost as if reading his mind, Peter spoke again. "You know, I could've put a stop to your visits weeks ago," he began. "Could've had Haversahm—" he seemed to reconsider, "_Mozzie_—made persona non grata as a condition of your probation. But I don't need to do that. Just don't get yourselves into anything illegal, and I'm fine with it."

Caffrey stared at him in stark disbelief. "You're not serious?"

"Of course I am. You might not believe it, but I do trust you . . . at least a little bit." He almost seemed surprised by the idea himself.

And suddenly, Neal laughed. Because for all the strangeness and uncertainty, and no matter how one-sided it might be, he _did_ trust this man. If Peter said this was a non-issue, he would accept that. Time to change the subject.

"Don't get too carried away there, Peter; wouldn't want to give me a big head."

"Too late for that."

"I am _not_ big-headed," the consultant answered primly, "I simply have a well-placed confidence in myself."

Burke chuckled. "Have it your way. But listen; there is one other thing about your friend."

Neal couldn't bring himself to ask, so he just looked the question back at the agent.

"I am still gonna call him Haversham," Peter explained. "Mozzie is a _really_ weird name."

Laughing, the partners made their way out of the garage.


End file.
